


School Daze

by eternaleponine



Series: Ghosts That We Knew [19]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Deleted Scene, Domestic Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deleted scene showing the events of the first two chapters of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/531381/chapters/942536">Ghosts That We Knew</a> from Natasha's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	School Daze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shazrolane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/gifts).



After almost a week of tests to determine just how much English she knew, and whether she would be able to keep up in regular classes, and what extra help she might need, Natasha was starting to think that maybe she'd made a mistake demanding that she be allowed to go to school. She was already sick of it, sick of being looked at like she was some kind of alien. She couldn't possibly be the first student they'd had who came from somewhere else and enrolled... could she?

But what was the alternative? An incomplete Russian education would get her nowhere here. It was bad enough that they'd decided that because they couldn't quite figure out how the Russian education system worked and how it matched up to their own (and her school records were all in Russian, and she wasn't sure they were complete because she didn't think her uncle had made it much of a priority to get them in order, and what did _that_ mean?) they were going to start her as a freshman, the first year of high school, even though she was a year older than all of the other students of that year.

"If you do well," they told her, "we might be able to move you up in a few classes next year."

Until then, though, it would only make her stick out more. Not that anyone had to know unless they asked, and would they ask? Or would they avoid her? Curiosity killed the cat, wasn't that the cliché? But satisfaction brought him back. That was the rest of it, that no one ever seemed to remember. 

She didn't want to be an exhibit, something for everyone to point and stare at as if she wasn't a person. She got enough of that at home.

"You don't have to do this," her uncle told her the night before her first day at school. "You can always change your mind." 

He was standing too close, like he often did, and didn't he realize she was holding a knife, chopping onions to put into the pan to make dinner? Her eyes stung and she blinked hard. They weren't real tears forming, she told herself. She wasn't actually crying; she was tougher than that. 

She felt his hand land on the small of her back, just a little too low, and her fingers tightened on the knife's grip, her pale skin going paler around the knuckles. "They're expecting me now," she said. "If I don't show up, they'll ask questions."

"And I'll answer them," her uncle said. "I'll tell them we decided to put you in another school. Maybe a school that has more Russian students, or teachers. One where you will be better understood."

Did such a school exist? She looked back at him, a quick flick of her gaze, but his expression was unreadable. She doubted that the school he was talking about was real. It would just be a story to get them – whoever _they_ were, whoever enforced the 'children under sixteen must go to school' rule – to get them off their backs. 

"I want to go," she said firmly, because his breath stank as he leaned in toward her for no reason at all. "They're expecting me."

And she couldn't stay here all day, every day. She couldn't do it. She wanted to believe that her uncle was... good? She wanted to believe this wasn't all a lie, anyway, but the longer she was here the more sure she was that something (everything) was not as it seemed. And she didn't feel safe. She had to get out, and school was an easy excuse.

*

The alarm went off on the phone that her uncle had gotten for her. ("In case you need me," he'd said, but she thought probably it was more the opposite. He wanted to be able to get hold of her wherever she was, whenever he wanted. It was a leash, but it was a fairly long one, and better than being under his constant watch, which was what it felt like when she was in the apartment or the shop.

She got up, her stomach already in knots, and for a second thought about telling him that she didn't want to do this after all... but only for a second. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and went to the bathroom to take a shower. She tried not to think about the fact that he was on the other side of the wall, and if she was too loud she might wake him up, and if she woke him up...

She didn't know. She didn't want him to wake up, though. She didn't want to see him, didn't want him to have a chance to try to convince her that she was making a mistake, or worse, to try and forcibly stop her from going. Not that he'd done anything like that, exactly... at least not yet. But there was something about the way that he sometimes moved to intercept her, keeping her from leaving the room when she wanted to, subtle but insidious, that made her think it was only a matter of time.

So she got ready quickly, quietly, and was almost to the door when she heard him behind her. "Where are you going?"

"School," she said. 

"Wait. I'll drive you."

"I can walk." She was right on the edge of the area that was required to walk to the school; there was a bus she could take if she wanted to, but she didn't. She would rather get there under her own power; she didn't want to have to rely on anyone for anything. Knowing the way there meant knowing the way back... or not. It meant knowing the places where she could get away to, hide, if it came to that. 

"I said I'll drive you."

"I said I'll walk." She turned her voice cold, looking at him square in the eye. "If I have to wait for you to get ready I'll be late." She didn't wait for him to answer, just pulled open the door and left, shutting it behind her. She hurried down the stairs, expecting to hear the sound of the door opening behind her, of him coming after her, but he didn't. She didn't look back, or up, to see if he was watching her as she went.

She'd been told to go to the office when she arrived on her first day to check in and receive her final schedule. The office was right inside the main doors, so she couldn't get lost finding it. She went up to the desk and the receptionist smiled and handed a sheet of paper that contained a bunch of letters and numbers that might has well have been hieroglyphics for all she could understand them. And it wasn't because it was in English; she could read English perfectly well. It was just a mishmash of abbreviations and codes that meant nothing to her, and it gave her a headache just looking at it.

"Go ahead and have a seat, dear," the receptionist told her. "Mr. Coulson will be here soon."

She'd met with the school social worker before, as part of the evaluations they'd done on her to determine her readiness for integration into the school (or whatever fancy term they'd used for whether or not she could manage to get by without holding everyone else back). "Why?" she asked. 

"Just have a seat."

So Natasha sat, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head and staring at the scuffed toes of the sneakers she'd brought with her. She hadn't known what to wear for her first day, hadn't known what would let her just fit in, but she didn't actually have very many choices (even though her uncle had taken her shopping, and there were the clothes that had already been in the room prior to her arrival that she didn't want to touch) so she'd settled on jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie, figuring it was pretty much impossible to go wrong with that, even if the labels in the clothing was in Cyrillic.

The office door opened, and she glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw that it was the social worker with someone at his side. A young someone, another student. Coincidence? Another new student?

"Natalia," Mr. Coulson said. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Natalia. Because that was who she was here. Natalia Alianovna Romanova. They hadn't earned the right to any other name. She stood up.

"I don't want to meet someone," she told Mr. Coulson. "I just want to go to class. Why I have to wait?" 

The social worker just shook his head, not answering, acting almost as if he hadn't heard her and for a second she had to play back what she'd said to make sure it was actually in English. But no, that wasn't the problem, because she'd known the words were wrong as soon as she said them. She knew they were wrong, but she was jittery, ready to get on with this because she'd gotten herself into it and the only way out was through.

"Natalia, this is Clint Barton. Clint, Natalia Romanova."

"Hey," Clint said. "Nice to meet you." 

She looked at him then, really looked. Not very tall, or very broad, or very anything at all. Which at least meant not very intimidating, and he was smiling, but that didn't mean anything at all. It was just muscles twisting a face into a shape that was meant to be pleasing, socially mandated but not necessarily (and in her experience, rarely) heartfelt. She didn't bother to smile back.

"He's going to show you around, make sure you can find all of your classes. Just for the first few days," Mr. Coulson told her. He handed the boy – Clint? What kind of name was Clint? – two piece of paper, one of which appeared to match the one she held, and patted him on the shoulder, which she was pretty sure meant that they were supposed to leave now.

Fine by her. She pushed open the door and stepped into the lobby, which now contained a lot more kids than it had when she'd come in. The glass walls of the office had insulated her from the noise, and now it felt a bit like the walls were closing in around her. Even so, she looked at him and said, "I don't need help. You can go."

Because the last thing she needed was Mr. Coulson trying to play matchmaker. She wasn't here because she actually wanted to be part of all of this – she just needed a place to be that wasn't that apartment, or the shop, or anywhere where her uncle or his friends could keep an eye on her. 

He reached up and touched something behind his ear. She hadn't noticed it before, and wasn't sure what it was. Some kind of cell phone device? He probably wasn't supposed to have that in school. But there seemed to be one in each ear, and that wasn't usual.

"Okay," he said after what felt like a very long time, but was probably only a few seconds. "You can go."

Except the marks on the page still meant nothing. _Pick a direction,_ she told herself. _It's just like street numbers, right? If they start going up when they're supposed to be going down, you turn around and go the other way._

She didn't get a chance. She'd only gone a few steps when hand landed on her shoulder. She whipped around, her hands up, ready to push away whoever had grabbed her, because she wasn't going to put up with that. Not here. Not where she had a choice.

It was Clint, and he had his hands up like she was pointing a gun at him or something and he didn't want any trouble. "You're going the wrong way," he told her. "It's that way." He pointed down a different hall that branched off the lobby.

She let her hands drop. He really _didn't_ mean any harm, and it wasn't his fault that Mr. Coulson had decided to make him do this. Unless he'd volunteered, but she got the feeling that wasn't the case. So they were both victims of the social worker's meddling. "Tell me."

"Maybe I should show you," he said. "Just this once."

She didn't want him to. She couldn't rely on anyone else, that much life had taught her, but as the halls started to empty, kids disappearing into classrooms, she had to admit that she wasn't going to be able to figure this out on her own, or at least not quickly enough to avoid calling attention to herself by arriving late. She gave in and nodded.

He didn't try to touch her again, just made sure to walk slow enough that she could keep pace and not lose him in the last minute rush as people got where they needed to go. "I'll come back after," he said. "Your next class is all the way on the other side of the school."

She nodded again, thought she should probably say thank you but didn't. She just stepped into the classroom and found herself a seat, not all the way in the front or in the back, but as close to the door as she could manage without it being obvious that that was what she was doing. She hoped that her teacher wouldn't make a big deal about her arrival... but she hoped in vain.

"Everyone, we have a new student," the woman at the front of the room said after the bell rang. "Why don't you come up and introduce yourself?"

Natasha's stomach clenched. She didn't want to get up in front of everyone. She didn't want to say anything, even just her name, because as soon as they heard it, as soon as they heard her say _anything_ , they would know she was Not From Here, that she was different, other, and not just from across town or a few states over, but somewhere Strange and Different and possibly Scary. Because how long had Russia and the United States hated each other? A long time. And it wasn't necessarily as over as the dissolution of the USSR and the declaration of the end of the Cold War would have people believe... depending on who you talked to.

But refusing would call just as much attention to her, or nearly, so better to just get it over with. They would figure it out sooner or later. So she stood up, but didn't go to the front of the room, just spoke from her desk. "My name is Natalia Romanova. I am from Russia – St. Petersburg." She didn't know what else to say, so she just sat down again, and thankfully, the teacher let it go at that.

And so it went, in every class, and why, _why_ was it so damned important? Why did they need to know? It wasn't any of their business, and she was sure that the other students didn't really care, although a few of them looked curious, and might have even approached her after class to ask questions, but as soon as the bell rang she was up and out of her seat, out the door as quickly as she could manage. If they'd tried to stop her, she would have told them that she had to meet someone, and it wouldn't have been a lie.

Because that boy – Clint – was waiting at the door after every class to walk her to her next one, making sure she got there without getting lost. By the time she got to her lunch period, she was exhausted, and she was tempted to duck out, find somewhere else to be, and just return home at a time that would make it seem like she'd actually made it through the full day. But obviously all of her teachers had been alerted to her presence or they wouldn't be making a fuss about her arrival, and if she didn't show up it was likely to raise some kind of alarm, and they would almost certainly call her uncle and...

"You can sit with me if you want," Clint offered. He was holding a small bag that she assumed contained his lunch. "It's getting a little cold for it but I usually eat outside."

"I'm fine," she said automatically. She hadn't brought a lunch, hadn't even thought about the fact that she would need one. She didn't have any money to buy one, either, and she was regretting the fact that she'd left the house in such a hurry that morning because she'd skipped breakfast as well. 

"I know. Offer still stands."

Which was a strange thing for him to say. She felt like it had to be obvious that even though she said she was fine, she really wasn't. But maybe she was better at hiding things than she felt. Maybe it didn't show on her face that this place was already wearing her down, that she was exhausted and hungry and miserable because once her teachers got past the Getting To Know You spiel, they just went right into business as usual, and never mind the fact that she sometimes got stuck on the first sentence and by the time she'd gotten that sorted out she was three behind.

She wanted to be alone, to have a chance to pull herself together, to regroup, but where would she go? She didn't know the school, didn't know the places where a person could go and hide to escape everything for a little while. Maybe he did, and outside didn't sound so bad. At least it was sunny. The artificial overhead lights were only making the headache that had started in the office worse. "Where?"

"Come on." 

So she followed him outside to a little stand of trees that wasn't quite a forest but was deep enough that she could almost pretend she was somewhere else for a little while. 

"Can you climb?" he asked, and pulled himself up onto the branch of tree, higher and higher until he was perched higher than she could reach even if she stretched up on her toes. 

The truth was, she didn't know if she could climb. She'd never tried. But obviously it was possible, because she'd just seen him do it. She was smaller than he was, and getting up on the first branch was harder than he'd made it look, but once she'd achieved that, it wasn't so difficult. She found a place to perch herself a little below him. If she stretched, she could reach up and touch him if she wanted to, but she didn't. Want to. Or try.

"You have a lunch?" 

"I'm fine." Empty words, but enough to assuage most people of any guilt or sense of obligation.

"You say that a lot." His tone was light, like his words weren't actually saying, _I see right through you._

"Because is true," she said, and frowned, took a breath and corrected, "Because _it_ is true." Stupid little useless words. How quickly such a small thing could wear a person down.

"Right." She heard the resulting of a bag, but she didn't look, just willed her stomach not to growl. She kept her fingers clenched on opposite sleeves, digging in. She saw him move out of the corner of her eye, holding something out to her. "Here."

She tried to ignore him, but the hand stayed where it was, offering half a sandwich until she finally gave it and took it. It was followed by half an apple, a handful of carrots, and a cookie.

They ate, and even after they were done eating it was quiet. She expected him to ask questions, but he didn't. He didn't seem bothered by the silence, and she didn't get the feeling that he was holding himself back from launching into an interrogation. He seemed... at peace, almost. Like he was just content to be where he was, with her there too, just... existing side by side, or as close as one could be while up a tree.

He finally motioned for her to climb down, and she did, careful of where she was placing her feet. She dropped from the last branch, managing to land without jarring herself, and stepped back so he could follow. He picked up his bag and turned like he was going to head back to the school, but when she didn't move, neither did he. 

She found herself staring at him, trying to puzzle out why he was being nice to her when he didn't have to be. Mr. Coulson had said he had to show her to her classes. Nothing more than that, unless he'd been given other instructions when she couldn't hear. But it didn't feel like that. It felt like he was being kind because it was the right thing to do. Because that was just what was in his nature. And there was nothing demanding about it; he didn't expect reciprocation. He didn't expect anything of her.

"Thank you," she said, low, the words coming out almost unbidden. 

"You're welcome." His expression slid into an easy smile. "Come on. Don't want to be late." She must have made a face, because he laughed. "Okay, maybe you don't care, but I don't need Coulson on my ass for not doing my duty or whatever." 

No, he didn't, and neither did she. So she fell into step beside him, leaving a little bit of space between them, but not a lot. Not as wide a berth as she'd given him earlier in the day, anyway, after he'd tried to touch her and she'd nearly hit him, and she hadn't been sure whether he might try again.

He slowed down as they got closer to the door, and her stomach clenched. Maybe she'd misjudged him after all, and here it was, the other shoe dropping or whatever the cliché was. "Hey, uh... I was thinking if you wanted, after school, I could give you a tour of the whole place? When the halls ain't so full. Kind of map out where things are so tomorrow..." 

She didn't answer. She didn't know what to say, because she didn't want to encourage him, but... it would be good, wouldn't it? To see where she needed to go and how to get there when the halls weren't packed with other students getting in the way? But maybe it was a trap, and maybe he was asking just because he wanted to get her away from other people and then...

He started moving again before she could think of what words to say, sparing her having to say anything at all. She just followed him to her class, and neither of them said another word to each other until the end of the day when he was waiting for her even though there was nowhere else she had to go but... home. If she could call it that.

"It's this way," he said, even though the way out was pretty obvious from the flow of students all heading the same way for once. "Do you take the bus?"

So he'd changed his mind. Or maybe he'd just taken her silence as a no, assuming that she didn't want any more to do with him than she was forced to. It was probably better for him to think that, but he'd given her half of his lunch, probably gone hungry for most of the afternoon because of it (because she had been, and she was smaller than he was and used to not having enough) and why? He didn't owe her anything.

She didn't owe him anything, either, but he'd made an offer and it didn't feel right to bite the hand that (literally) fed her.

"I thought you were going to show me," she said. "When everyone is gone."

"Oh." His smile lit up his face. His eyes were blue like hers, but not the same blue – darker and brighter at once if that was possible. "Right. Sure." 

So he showed her the school, all of her classrooms and other places of note, and she stored it all away, because tomorrow she might be on her own if he lost interest, and she really shouldn't rely on anyone anyway, even if they don't seem to mind.

And then they were outside again, and she knew she should just walk away, because she would be better off and so would he if she did, because her life was enough of a mess without anyone else getting tangled up in it. It didn't matter that those few minutes they'd shared in the quiet of the woods had felt like the first time she'd really been able to breathe since entering the airport in Russia. It didn't matter that his smile felt contagious and it was only because she held herself back that she didn't answer it. It didn't matter.

She opened her mouth to say thank you again, or goodbye, but what came out was, "I see you in morning?"

"What?" 

_Stupid._ "Nothing." She looked away.

"No, tell me," Clint said. His hand came up like he might touch her again, but he stopped himself, and it was strange because she wouldn't have minded so much this time, since she'd seen it coming and her gut told her that he wasn't someone she needed to be afraid of. But he'd remembered anyway, and he'd learned, and that more than anything was why she actually repeated herself.

"I see you in morning?"

He smiled, and she blushed, and wondered if he noticed or thought it was just the wind. "Yeah. I'll meet you here, okay?"

" _Da._ " She frowned, shook her head, even though probably he would understand. "Okay."

Natasha walked slowly, not dragging her feet exactly but in no hurry to get where she was going. The sun was getting low in the sky and there was a bite to the wind, but she wanted just a few minutes more to herself to try to sort through the day before she had to face her uncle and his silent (and not so silent) demands.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to Clint, to his smile and his easy good humor, and the way his forehead furrowed just a little when she spoke like he had to really concentrate to understand. But it didn't seem to bother him like it did some people, and she didn't get the feeling that he thought she was stupid because her English wasn't perfect and sometimes her tongue tangled over the unfamiliar sounds. (Her only consolation there was that all of the people who sneered at her accent would be even more disastrous if they tried to speak Russian.) Everything else about the day had been varying shades of awful, but the time she'd been with him had felt... easy.

And she wanted to trust that feeling, and she knew she shouldn't.

She used her keys (given grudgingly, because they gave her a freedom she was sure her uncle didn't want her to have) and let herself into the apartment, and dropped her backpack in her room. A glance at the clock told her she should probably start dinner, because her uncle would be coming up from the shop soon and he would probably expect it to be ready. Even if he didn't, better not to tempt trouble.

But it was clear from the moment he slammed the door, signaling his return, that there was going to be trouble no matter what she did or said. It was just him, none of his friends, and he invited her to sit down and eat with him (which wasn't always the case, so she often ate by herself in the kitchen, and honestly preferred it). His voice was friendly but his eyes were not. She didn't dare say no.

"How was school?" he asked. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yes," she said. "It was fine."

"That's good," he said. "I'm glad to hear that." And he didn't say anything more about it, opting instead to have a drink, and then another.

Natasha cleared the table when they were done, stacking the dishes beside the sink to wash them. She let herself get lost in the mindlessness of it, let her guard down too far, so that she didn't hear her uncle coming up behind her, didn't sense him there until he was too close, his breath in her hair. She tensed but didn't turn, willing him to go away, leave her alone, damn it.

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice a growl. 

"When?" she asked. "I went to school, then I came home. I didn't go anywhere else."

"You did," he said. "Because school ends at three, and you weren't home until almost five."

Had he been watching her, or having her watched? She'd been careful not to walk past the shop window just so he wouldn't see her and know what time she'd gotten home, just in case... well, just in case _this_. 

"School gets out at 3:15," she said, "and I stayed afterward so that someone could show me around, help me find where all of my classes are so I don't get lost tomorrow." Even though Mr. Coulson had made it sound like Clint would be helping her find her way for a couple of days at least. "So I didn't leave school until almost an hour late."

"And then?"

"And then I got a little bit lost on the way home," she lied, "so it took longer than it should have. I'm sorry."

His fingers tangled in her hair, knotted there and tugged, pulling her head back so that she was forced to look at him, look up at his face. "You're not," he said. "You're not sorry at all." _But you will be,_ was the implication, and she tried to keep her breathing steady even though she thought letting him think that she was panicking, that he had her scared and ready to break down might keep her from getting hurt. But it wasn't in her nature to show weakness, and maybe it would have made it worse. It was a gamble either way, so she bit her lip to hide the pain, and tried not to think about the knife she'd just watched that might still be in reach.

Because _that_ wouldn't get her anywhere good.

"I made dinner," she said. "You didn't have to wait."

"Yes," he said, "that's good, because I wouldn't have liked it if I had to wait. But I still want to know where you were for all of that time."

"I told you," Natasha said, twisting to face him even though it yanked at her hair, making her wince. "I was at school, then I came home."

"Who showed you around?" he asked.

She hesitated. Only a second, but a second too long, and he shoved her back against the counter. She could feel it digging into her back, hard enough that it would probably leave a mark. She tried to stay still, because struggling would only make him fight harder and damn it, what did he _want_ from her? What did he think she'd done, what was he so concerned about? 

"Who showed you around?" he demanded again, releasing her hair but only to grab her arms to shake her.

"The social worker," she said. "The one who I had to talk to when they were figuring out what grade I should be in. The one who gave me all the tests." Her uncle had met Mr. Coulson briefly; he might remember. "He'd meant to do it before but he forgot, so he did it after school today."

She didn't know what would happen if her uncle called the school and asked Mr. Coulson to verify what she'd said. Would he correct him, or would he somehow know to just go along with it? And if he did, what questions would that raise? 

And why was she lying in the first place? Why didn't she just say that it had been a kid at the school that the social worker had assigned to look after her for the first few days? What was wrong with that? If it had been another girl who'd been assigned the task, she would have told him, wouldn't she? 

But it wasn't. It was Clint, and somehow she sensed that if her uncle knew that she'd spent the afternoon with a boy, it wouldn't go over well. And the threat wouldn't just be to her. As he searched her eyes, his own wild with alcohol and rage that was maybe or maybe not entirely directed at her, she knew that for certain. If he knew about Clint, he would find a way to go after him, thinking that he was a threat somehow.

So he wouldn't know about Clint. Because she didn't want to lose already the one good thing about the day. It wouldn't last, probably, because nothing good did, but at least for a few days, at least until she got settled, until he got bored and was released from his duties... she needed to know that at least she had one good thing to hold on to.

"You think," her uncle said, "that you can just do what you want. You think that because you're here now, in the land of the free and the home of the brave," and that part was said in a sneer, "that you can go where you want, do as you please, and there will be no consequences." His fingers dug into her arms and he pushed her back again. "You're wrong. You're not free, because you're mine. Don't forget that."

She took a breath. "I won't," she said. "I won't forget."

"Finish what you're doing," he said, finally releasing her. "I don't want to see you anymore tonight."

There had never been sweeter words.

*

The next morning she managed to leave without her uncle waking up. She didn't know if it would make things worse when she got home, but she couldn't think about that. If she worried about his reaction to every little thing that she did, she wouldn't do anything at all, and she couldn't let him have that much control over her. She refused to live in fear.

She sat down on the front steps of the school, assuming that Clint would have to come that way when he arrived. They hadn't actually arranged where they were going to meet, and a part of her said that she shouldn't meet him at all, that it would only encourage him into thinking that this was more than what it was. 

But what was it? Just a job he'd been given by Mr. Coulson, and just something she was forced to go along with. She thought she might be able to find her classes on her own, at least most of them, and maybe she should try so that she could send him on his way. He was a liability, after all. Anyone she got close to was, now. Or she was a liability to them, whether they knew it or not.

So really, she ought to go inside and when he eventually found her, tell him that she was fine, she'd figured it out, thank you for the help yesterday but his services were no longer needed. But she didn't move. She sat with her arms crossed, trying to ignore the fact that her backpack poked into the bruised place on her back from where she'd been pushed into the counter, and her fingers – when she crossed her arms against the early morning chill – pressed into the black and blue marks his hands had left behind.

She looked up when she heard footsteps, and saw that it was him. She pushed herself up, walking down a couple of steps so that when he got to the bottom they were eye to eye.

"You came back," he said, smiling at her. She nodded, didn't smile back. "Ready for your second day?"

Ready? No. She wasn't ready. But she was here. So she shrugged.

He looked like he was going to say something, but then didn't. He just led her inside, walking her to her first class, and every class after, even when they were close together and there was really no chance of her getting lost. Maybe he thought he was protecting her from the other students or something; she had no idea. And of course he didn't know that the other students were the least of her concerns.

"Do you wanna have lunch with me again?" he asked. "It's turkey today."

The right answer was no. She knew that. But he was smiling again, and he didn't even really wait for her answer before heading outside, into the little stand of trees and climbing up. Like he knew she would follow... and she did.

Climbing was harder today, because it hurt. But he didn't go as high this time, so she only had to go up a few branches before finding a place to perch herself, a little closer to him this time, so that he could easily have reached out and touched her if he'd tried, and he didn't have to stretch as far when he offered her a sandwich.

She started to tell him that she didn't need it, that she was fine (a lie he wouldn't believe), but he said, "I packed to today. Just in case."

Just in case she didn't have anything to eat again. Just in case she was still following him come lunch time. Just in case... what? What else? But she was grateful, whatever his thinking had been, so she took it, and the rest of the food he offered, without any further attempt at protest.

When the food was gone, her curiosity finally got the better of her. She looked at him and tapped behind her ear, where he had the device that she'd first thought as for a cell phone but now was pretty sure was not. "What's that?"

His face scrunched up, and he looked uncomfortable. "Hearing aid."

"Why?" There was the obvious answer, but she assumed he would know that that wasn't what she was really asking. 

"Long story," he said.

Which wasn't really an answer, but it was all the answer she could reasonably ask for. They didn't know each other. They weren't friends. And it was none of her business anyway. So she just nodded and let it go, but found herself looking over and up at him again and again, trying to puzzle him out – why he was being nice and what he might want from her and how long would this last, really? Because she could imagine herself getting used to this and she couldn't really let that happen, but...

"Where are you from?" 

She blinked. Mr. Coulson hadn't told him? He hadn't heard? But then he wasn't in any of her classes, and maybe she felt more conspicuous than she actually was. "Russia."

"Why'd you come here?"

She hesitated. She couldn't answer the question honestly, or she didn't want to. If she started, she might not stop, and it was too much, too soon if this was going to last past today, or tomorrow, or whenever she was forced to admit that she already knew how to get from point A to point B without his help.

But then the answer was obvious, and she had to fight back a smile. "Long story."

"Maybe someday you'll tell me," he said.

"Maybe." Probably not. But maybe.

And then he was quiet, and so was she, but like the day before it was easy. There was no demand in the silence, no expectation. It was just the two of them, lost in their own worlds but also in this little world that they shared.

And then their time was up, and they had to climb back down and go back to the school, and he walked beside her through the halls and she didn't tell him that she knew where she was going, although maybe he could figure it out because she didn't stay half a step behind him now.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked after the final bell had rung. They were on the front steps of the school, and he had turned to face her, and now she understood why he looked at her so intently when she spoke – he wasn't just trying to wrap his ears around her accent and the sometimes haphazard way that the words came out. He needed to see her face to see the shapes the words formed. 

And she didn't mind it. With other people, direct stares often meant danger, but with him... she was safe. She honestly believed that. She was safe, and he was only trying to understand.

So she smiled, just a little. "You know where to find me."


End file.
